


Duty

by AbhorrentSelkie



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex as a tradition, Voyeurism, but is it really voyeurism if no one is getting off on it?, no beta we die like Glenn, no specified ages, people are watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25206046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbhorrentSelkie/pseuds/AbhorrentSelkie
Summary: It was supposed to be Glenn, laid bare before the disinterested eyes of the dozen witnesses, old men whose names he didn’t care to know, along with their own father, heart beating furiously as the goddess-forsaken wait stretched on and on endlessly.Tradition dictates that a Blaiddyd and their Fraldairus are to be each others' first. That duty falls on Felix.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 4
Kudos: 96





	Duty

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing smut, and boy are my hands shaking lol. Go easy on me.

It was supposed to be Glenn.

It was supposed to be Glenn who had to spend the past week minding a rigid diet that would not lead to any stomach upset, who had to listen to their red-faced father go through a painfully rehearsed speech about the tradition that dated back to the days of Loog and Kyphon and what was expected of him now that it was his turn to perform his duty.

It was supposed to be Glenn who had to spend the days leading up to that moment preparing himself, working himself open alone at night with his fingers and an array of progressively larger toys so there would be no difficulty when the time came.

It was supposed to be Glenn, laid bare before the disinterested eyes of the dozen witnesses, old men whose names he didn’t care to know, along with their own father, heart beating furiously as the goddess-forsaken wait stretched on and on endlessly.

But Glenn was dead, and the duty fell on Felix instead.

Felix closes his eyes, focused on breathing, in and out, in and out. The herbal tea he’d been instructed to drink by a blushing servant just an hour before has done its job, and Felix is almost painfully hard, his exposed manhood leaking against his stomach. He tries not to think of the shame that welled in his chest, the indignation of it all. _There’s nothing to be ashamed of_ , his father had tried to reassure him. Had his father not felt this way when he laid in that very spot years before, waiting to fulfill his duty to the late King Lambert for the Goddess and a dozen other men to see?

The door opens, and Felix’s eyes open with them. Dimitri is covered, for the time being, by a fine robe of royal blue, though it does nothing to hide his herb-induced erection as it strains against the confines of the cloth. Felix can feel his face heat at the mere thought.

Dimitri’s head is bowed and Felix can’t see his face as he comes to a stop at the foot of the bed, for which he is thankful. One of the men stands, rattling off into a speech that’s no doubt been recited hundreds of times over the centuries. Felix doesn’t listen; he doubted he could, even if he wanted to, over the pounding of his heart. He vaguely hears his father say something, then Dimitri.

There is a pause. “Felix,” his father says, somehow sharp and gentle in equal measure, returning Felix’s attention to the situation.

That’s right, he’s supposed to say something. “I am prepared,” he manages to choke out, hating the hoarse drag of his voice as it pulls free from his throat. At that, Dimitri disrobes, and Felix tries (fails) not to look.

Dear goddess, did he have to be hung like a fucking horse?

Felix’s mouth goes dry as Dimitri clambers onto the bed, takes his spot above Felix, perfectly sculpted chest and strong, broad shoulders making Felix feel impossibly small. Even though they are not touching yet, Felix can feel the heat radiating off of him as he finally meets Dimitri’s eyes. They are soft, apologetic, sheepish. A faint blush has covered the boar’s cheeks.

“Are you okay, Felix?” he asks softly, heedless of those around them.

Felix scowls. “Oh, yeah, peachy,” he snorts. “I’ve always wanted to get fucked up the ass with my dad and a dozen strangers watching.”

“ _Felix_ ,” his father snaps as a few of the other men murmur among themselves, but Felix ignores him. To his surprise, the boar laughs, a soft, breathy thing.

“Are you ready?”

“Just get it over with.” Dimitri licks his lips, but nods dutifully. With a shaking breath, Felix lets his legs spread for the boar, and Dimitri shifts above him as he gets into position. Despite himself, Felix spares another glance down at Dimitri’s cock. It was large, flushed purple at the head, leaking in small pearlescent beads that rolled down the thick shaft. Like Felix, who’d spent the better part of the last hour stretching himself open, Dimitri is already prepared, slicked with a generous amount of oil.

Dimitri lines himself up against Felix’s entrance, and Felix bites his lip. For all his preparation, even the largest of the toys he’d been given weren't remotely close to the size of the cock that was slowly starting to press into him. The stretch of it knocks the air from Felix’s lungs. His fingers fist into the sheets as he’s filled to bursting. Above him, Dimitri’s brow knits together, eyes squeezed shut, a plump pink lip caught between his teeth.

It feels like an eternity before the boar bottoms out inside of him, and he stills, lowering himself closer to Felix. His arms bracket Felix’s head, their chests almost flush together. Felix’s hole flutters around his cock. Though Felix is desperate for this to just end, he is thankful for the moment of reprieve as he adjusts to the intrusion. It’s surreal, so different from the toys he’d prepared with. Those were made of expertly crafted glass, unyieldingly hard, cold until they warmed inside him. Now, he could feel the heat of Dimitri deep inside him, could feel every twitch and pulse, so clearly alive.

It takes only a moment for Felix’s breathing to return to normal, though his heart still beats so loud he wonders if the boar can hear it, and he grows accustom to the stretch of Dimitri. “You can move,” he huffs.

The boar does as he as bidden, pulling back and rolling his hips slowly, a soft gasp falling from his lips. "Goddess," he breathes in Felix's ear, "you're so tight, Felix." Felix fights back his own embarrassing sounds. _It’s alright to respond_ , his father had told him, _it’s meant to feel good_.

The boar’s pace builds slowly until he’s fucking into Felix in earnest, grunting and panting like the animal he is, chasing his own pleasure. Felix fights his losing battle against the sensations that assault him. It is lost the second Dimitri’s hips shift and he begins driving into the spot within Felix that has him seeing stars, white-hot pleasure racking through him. A low, needy moan escapes his lips, and Felix surrenders. If he sounds like a whore, so be it.

His hands, until that moment still balled into the sheets, reach up for Dimitri, winding around his neck and drawing him close. Dimitri buries his face in the crook of Felix’s neck, lips worrying marks against the flushed, sensitive skin there like an animal marking its mate. He is unprepared for the hand that wraps around his own cock, calloused from years of wielding a lance. Dimitri pumps him in time with his thrusts, still biting and sucking at Felix’s neck, moaning low in his throat. “Fuck,” Felix moans, nails digging crescent moons into Dimitri’s shoulders. “ _Dima_.”

It is a name Felix hasn’t called the boar in years, not since the Tragedy, and it strikes both of them like a bolt of lighting. The groan that rumbles through Dimitri’s chest is positively wrecked. His mouth breaks from Felix’s neck and finds his lips instead, and Felix is too far gone to care, kissing the boar back like he would die without it. Dimitri urges his lips apart and licks into his mouth, tangling their tongues together. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Felix wonders if kissing was one no-nos of the tradition, but no one stops them and he finds he couldn’t be bothered to care either way.

Between the heated kiss, Dimitri’s hand around him, and his cock fucking into the sensitive bundle of nerves over and over, Felix doesn’t last much longer. He breaks the kiss, throwing his head back as he comes between them, chanting _Dima, Dima, Dima~_ like a mantra, like a prayer.

Dimitri’s hips falter, and he manages one, two, three more thrusts before spending deep in Felix. Sweaty, panting, in a post-orgasm haze, Dimitri falls against Felix, nuzzling softly against his neck. They lay there a moment, catching their breaths, when the clearing of a throat reminds Felix of their audience. He scowls, shoving against the boar’s broad chest. “Get off me.”

The boar obliges, looking like he wants to say something, but he remains silent. Felix hisses as his softening cock pulls out of his abused hole, warm seed trickling out after. One of the witnesses drapes Dimitri’s robe over the prince’s shoulders the second he climbs off the bed, perhaps to preserve what's left of his modesty. No one seems to care about Felix’s modesty, as he’s left nude, chest covered in his own spend, Dimitri’s leaking out of him, utterly wrecked.

Dimitri is ushered out, the eleven old men after him, leaving Felix alone with his father. The man, flushed and uncomfortable, tosses Felix his own robe, a satiny white thing. Felix groans as he attempts to stand, sore and tender in a way he hadn’t expected. His father mercifully doesn’t attempt to speak to him, and Felix staggers his way to his chamber alone, trying to sort through the jumble of confusing feelings that swirled uneasy in his stomach. No one would ever know that Felix brings himself off to the memory, alone in the dark that night and the next night and many nights after, the boar's name tumbling unbidden from his lips each time in the moments before the shame of it washes over him anew. Each time, as he lays panting and painfully empty and hating himself more with each orgasm, he curses his weakness, curses the boar, curses the circumstances that led him to that point.

It was supposed to have been Glenn.


End file.
